[Tyrant]

The night air was chilly as the three battered chiefs sat to their gruesome feast. The occansional cries of wounded men carried up from the ragged encampment below.

"That did not go well," pronounced Gerulf with more cheer in his voice than the night warranted.

"Nope," grunted Korgoth from beneath a burning stare.

"I heard that those Tien Chi guys are coming in right behind them. Heard that last bunch were some sort of slave army they sent in first to clear the way."

"Worked," said Ervig staring laconically at the camp below.

Gerulf adjusted an arm on the pile of corpses the three were using as a dinner table.

"Kinda wierd the way they all just wandered off into the woods after the battle. Whaddya think that was about?"

The pop and snap of the fire filled the silence as the others stared dully at Gerulf. Korgoth wiped a new trickle of blood off the bubbling wound on his face and went back to bone he was gnawing on.

"Don't worry about it Korgoth, you were ugly as dog's butt already anyway."

"Ain't worried," he replied.

"Think the next lot will have as many archers as the last bunch," asked Gerulf as he worked the fat from his meal into his beard.

The other two exchanged incredulous looks before Korgoth asked "Does he ever shut up?"

"Only when he's sleeping," replied Ervig as he slammed a hammer fist into Gerulf's startled face.